


Never the Same

by wesleyfanfiction_archivist



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-06-28
Updated: 2005-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-12 08:17:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7094008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesleyfanfiction_archivist/pseuds/wesleyfanfiction_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place after Fred's parents come to visit.  This story is a character study of Wesley, shown through a single entry in his private journal.  Written for Winter of Wes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never the Same

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Versaphile, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [WesleyFanfiction.net](http://fanlore.org/wiki/WesleyFanFiction.Net). Deciding that it needed to have a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the e-mail address on [WesleyFanfiction.net collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/wesleyfanfiction/profile).

Thanks to Kyrieane for the beta!

***

**Wesley Wyndam-Pryce**   
_**Entry 56, Private Journal 7.** _

It's difficult to ascertain one's feelings in a situation such as this. After all, who could fathom such a thing happening? If Fred had been turned, she no doubt would have wished a swift dusting. And because we loved her, because _I_ loved her, there would have been no question as to our compliance.

And had we possessed the power Illyria, too, would be long gone. But since it is near impossible to vanquish one such as she, here she stands. Walking and talking and _being_ , as Fred should have been. When I look at her, my heart seizes with the agony of it. Knowing that she is here and Fred is not. And yet, a small part, an infinitesimal part of me wants to believe that Fred is _not_ dead, that some part of her still lives on within the demon that has devoured her.

Today, Fred's parents, the Burkles, decided to pay their daughter a visit. It fell to me to tell them of Fred's death, yet when the time came I wavered. And it is to my shame that I allowed Illyria the ruse she played. For how could I tell the Burkles that their precious Fred was gone, when here she stood - walking, and talking, and laughing before them? God forgive me, but I could not.

And Illyria played the part quite perfectly. Too perfectly. I nearly fell to my knees at the sight of her, at the sound of her sweet, southern drawl. I miss her smile, her effervescence. Her innocence, even in the face of all that is evil. She never lost her love of life, her hope for the future.

It was something that I was never capable of, something that was stripped from me in childhood and never returned. My father, ever the practical, pragmatic instructor taught me that hope and love were mythical properties, legends for the baser populace. He taught me that those sentiments were nothing more than fleeting fancies.

And until I met Fred, I believed him. I built my life around loyalty and purpose. Believing as I did that to follow a cause, to fight for the greater good, would grant me fulfillment, satisfaction. I never believed that I could have more. I never believed that there _was_ more. Until I met Fred.

She brought laughter and . . . and happiness, into my life. She brought _me_ to life. And then in the blink of an eye, I lost it all. I lost her. I lost myself.

Tonight I did something reprehensible. Something unforgivable. For the first time since her death, I have cause to be glad her soul was destroyed. For if she had moved on to a higher plane, if she were looking down on me tonight, I'm afraid she'd weep to see the man I've become. Or maybe the man I always had been, without her.

After the ruse, after the Burkles had left, Illyria came to me. She offered herself, offered _Fred_ , and I refused her. And I watched her melt back into her Illyria form, watched Fred disappear before my eyes. And something inside of me snapped, broke in two, and I found myself clutching at her shoulders, shaking her roughly. Screaming for Fred, screaming that Illyria return her to me.

And so she did. And then Fred was _there_. And I was holding her. She wasn't dead, she wasn't gone; she was there, with me. Fred was there, and I had her in my arms, and she was mine, and I never wanted to let her go.

She loved me. The only person in my entire life to take me as I was. To love my faults, my foibles, my _self_. And I couldn't let her go. I wouldn't let her go.

She trembled in my arms, and whispered my name. I took her mouth, kissed her fiercely, hungrily. But I didn't stop there. We were in my office, the others long gone. I paused only long enough to lock the door, just in case. And then I welcomed her back into my embrace. I kissed her and caressed her. And . . . and we made love. We made love as we never had before, and I heard her cry out my name for the first time, and I heard her sweet sighs as she came in my arms.

And yet, the whole time I knew, I _knew_ , it wasn't Fred and I took her anyway. I took her and I pretended . . . I pretended the ruse was real. Because I had to, because I need her, because I'm selfish and stupid and scarred, and _she's_ the only one capable of healing me. And now she's gone.

And yet she's not.

Love and hope. Two sentiments that remain a mystery to me. I loved Fred, would've died for her if only the choice had been offered me. Yet, I destroyed her tonight just as surely as Illyria had so many weeks ago. And hope? The very idea makes me laugh. For what is there left to hope for? If Fred's soul is well and truly sundered, I have nothing to look forward to, not even death. And if her soul survives? She surely despises me now, which leaves me once again, with nothing.

Yes, love and hope are truly lost to me. 

THE END.


End file.
